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notapaladin-
When Axayacatl died, Acatl had felt the snap of it in his bones. When Tizoc died, it was barely even a breath.
Then again, he was somewhat preoccupied at the moment. Teomitl was under him, all that strength and power and beauty turned pliant in his hands, and all he could think was how he wanted more. More of those calloused hands, those lean muscles, the way his body held him like he’d been made for it. Teomitl clawed down his back, making him shudder, and he drove in deeper with a groan. Gods, I am a selfish man.
Teomitl didn’t seem to mind. He was urging him on with hard snaps of his hips, voice cracking as each thrust pulled out a gasp or a whine or a breathless, “Acatl-tzin—Duality, Acatl.” Acatl knew he was close, achingly so, and only needed a moment more—
Teomitl muffled a scream with his teeth in Acatl’s shoulder as he came, and Acatl followed him over the edge with a white-sparking spasm.
They lay together afterwards in a warm, contented haze. Acatl’s shoulder was starting to ache, but he ignored it. Holding his temporarily sated lover was more important; Teomitl had cuddled up next to him like a puppy and was nestled against his chest as though he never planned to move again. Acatl carded his fingers gently through his hair, feeling devastatingly tender. “I missed this,” he murmured.
Teomitl was silent. He wasn’t always the most verbal or coherent after sex, especially if he was on the receiving end, but he’d usually at least hum his agreement—or, if he was in a teasing mood, quip something about how it had only been a week, and however did Acatl cope when he was away at war? (The honest answer, which Acatl had given once and which had made Teomitl kiss him breathless, was that he really didn’t; he threw himself into work and tried not to count the days until the army’s return. But it was the rainy season, and war was very far from his mind. If Teomitl asked him that now, his answer would need no words at all.)
Acatl looked down to find him frowning thoughtfully, the lines of his fingers tense where they rested above his heart. “...Hm.”
“...What?” Ice tried to seep through his veins, but he shoved it forcibly back down with a grimace. If Teomitl was dissatisfied, he’d waste no time in making his feelings known, and he certainly wouldn’t still be curled against him the way he was. Acatl stroked his back, hoping it would help.
It didn’t. “...Does something feel strange to you?”
He was warm and naked and sated on his mat, with a soft cloak spread under him and his lover tucked against his side. No, came his first thought, but then he felt it. The boundaries had been left open that little bit for so long, it had started to feel normal. He’d gotten used to the faint vertigo that struck when he looked at the sky, the way the stars had seemed too close and too bright. Tizoc was a ragged bandage on a gaping wound, but the bandage had held.
Until now. He took a deep breath and shuddered, fingers curling into fists against the mat (and also in Teomitl’s hair, which Teomitl didn’t mind if the gasp was any indication). A wave of dizziness struck him; for a too-long moment he felt as though the solid ground under him was tilting. He forced himself not to blink, knowing it would be much worse if he closed his eyes. The boundaries...
“...Tizoc-tzin is dead.”
Teomitl swallowed and nodded. “A quarter-hour ago, maybe. I thought I felt—well.” There was a wry attempt at a smile. “You were being amazingly distracting.”
Acatl wanted to wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his hair, and pretend—just for a moment, gods, give him a moment—that everything would be alright. That the council would crown Teomitl quickly, that the boundaries would hold. But he knew he couldn’t afford to do that, not now. “...You didn’t know.” The words felt like drops of lead on his tongue.
There was a soft rumble in Teomitl’s throat, a jaguar frustrated at lack of prey. “I would’ve warned you!”
“I know you would have.” He pressed a kiss to his temple, wishing he could linger, and reluctantly shook himself out from under Teomitl’s arm. “You should go.”
Teomitl made a low unhappy noise as he reached for his loincloth. “Acatl, I—”
“Someone will be here soon to fetch me so I can reinforce the boundaries.” His hands shook as he dressed himself, and it was only by sheer effort of will that he didn’t look in Teomitl’s direction. “You can’t be here when they do.”
“I know.” Teomitl threw on his loincloth as though it had offended him, only belatedly remembering to make a grab for his cloak; even the plain one he wore when he made the late-night trek to Acatl’s house was too conspicuous as something that didn’t belong in a priest’s house. His hands were shaking too, but Acatl was sure it was from rage. When he started fumbling with the straps on his sandals, Acatl turned away.
Tizoc was dead. After lingering for years in ever-increasing paranoia and instability, his callous cruelty reaching a pitch even his favorite sycophant Quenami took note of, he was finally dead and, the Duality willing, no longer their problem. The hole in the boundaries could finally, finally be properly sealed, and when Teomitl was crowned he would finally be able to lead the Empire to glory. If they held out just a little while longer, they would be safe.
If.
He was lingering, Acatl told himself. It would only have been a matter of time. Perhaps it was his heart, or the fluid in his lungs. Perhaps there’s no other explanation than that, and I am worrying for nothing. But he knew even as he thought it that he’d never be that lucky. If the Revered Speaker had been slain, they would look to him for answers. He knew which one Quenami, at least, would want to hear. He doesn’t know, he reminded himself. He was far away from the city for that, and Teomitl has been careful since then. So careful. There’s no reason to suspect him, none at all.
He dressed quickly, mechanically. Whoever they sent to fetch him would expect to see him roused from sleep, and so a certain degree of disorder would be expected, but there was disorder and there was...well. If he tied his cloak over both shoulders (something it was really too warm to do) it would hide the red marks from Teomitl’s nails down his back, and careful arranging of his hair would do the same for the love bite sure to turn colors on his neck. They would raise far too many questions if someone spotted them.
Teomitl was halfway out the door. Soon he would be gone, and the gods knew when they’d have a chance to talk again. It pulled painfully at his heart.
“...Teomitl?”
“What?” his lover snapped without turning around.
He sucked in a breath that scorched his lungs. “I wish you had known. I wish you’d—yourself—” It should have been your hand on the knife, your mind behind the poisoned cup or the flower garland looped around his neck. You’ve waited long enough, after all these years of staying your hand...
Teomitl drew in a slow breath. “So do I. But things will be better now. I’ll make sure of it.”
Then he turned, and even the edge of his smile was warm as an early dawn. “I won’t let you worry, love. Promise.”
He slipped into the night, and Acatl was alone. His heart thumped away steadily in his chest; he touched it absently, thinking of Teomitl’s hand resting there. We should have had all night. I should be asleep in his arms right now.
“Acatl-tzin!” Ezamahual, calling his name. Rapidly approaching footsteps. He hoped Teomitl was well away.
But I am High Priest for the Dead, and I have a duty.
&
He’d only done the ritual once before, at Axayacatl’s death, but that didn’t matter; he remembered it perfectly well, and Ichtaca was a steady presence by his side as he made the sacrifices and sang the chants into the warm night air. The dry, stretched emptiness of Mictlan centered him, scouring him clean of his doubts and fears. For the space of time it took him to perform the spell, he only needed to be the High Priest, nothing else—no one’s son, no one’s brother. No one’s lover...no, no, that wasn’t quite true. Teomitl’s smile lingered in his mind like a caress, and he drew strength from it.
And then it was over. He wiped blood from his hands, savoring the first deep breath he took after the power left him. Above him, the boundaries creaked under the strain—but they held. They would continue to hold. For now.
“My lord, shall I accompany you to the palace?”
He shook his head at Ichtaca’s question. “I’ll be fine with Palli. You take over the cleanup here.”
It was a short walk over to the palace, but there was enough time for worry to take hold again. He could feel the thinness of the wards they’d wrought, almost hear the rattle of star-demon bones on the wind. Old scars twinged faintly at the memory, and he knew they’d never been more vulnerable than at this moment. The petitioners he passed must have felt it too, for there was a grim frenzy in their penances. He couldn’t blame them. Tizoc’s coronation was a memory he still reeled from in the night.
He chewed his bottom lip. Teomitl will be better. I know he will. But first...Duality, please let him be crowned without incident. Please.
Though the palace was far from silent, the banquets and gatherings he passed had a subdued, unreal quality to them, as though the people involved were just going through the motions. He passed more than one person anxiously gazing up at the sky. Hold on, he wanted to tell one sniffling young girl. We’ll have this fixed soon enough. It was nothing like Axayacatl’s death, with Tizoc frothing at the mouth to be Revered Speaker. Teomitl had proved his patience and was willing to wait; the council would vote him in without trouble, and then he would lead them all to glory.
When he stepped into the Revered Speaker’s chambers, he knew it wouldn’t be so simple. Tizoc had remodeled since taking over his brother’s chambers, but he barely noticed the decor besides making a mental note of how bright it all was. (Teomitl would no doubt have it repainted in the soothing blues and greens he favored; he’d gone so far as to ask Acatl’s opinions on themes before.) The other people in the room were more important. There was the She-Snake, of course, looking older and more tired than Acatl had ever seen him, and there were both of his fellow High Priests. Acamapichtli was fighting back a yawn, but Quenami was fixing him with a particularly haughty stare.
“Ah, Acatl. You’re finally here.”
He deliberately did not meet Quenami’s gaze. Instead, he glanced at Mihmatini—who was, tonight, not his sister, but the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct. She’d dressed in her full regalia, face shining with sweat where the blue lines of her paint didn’t cover, and the feathers of her headdress rustled lightly as she met his eyes. She didn’t smile. Neither did Teomitl, who’d thrown on a tunic and a few more pieces of heavy jewelry since leaving Acatl’s arms.
One of those pieces, he realized, was the small jade lip plug he’d given him for his last birthday, with its relief carving of an eagle in flight. The sight had a tiny ember of warmth glowing in his heart as he turned to the She-Snake. “My lords, I have come as custom dictates for the body of our Revered Speaker, Huitzilopochtli’s chosen.”
“We surrender it willingly," the She-Snake said. "We all must leave this world, the jades and the flowers, the marigolds and the cedar trees. Having nourished the Fifth Sun and Grandmother Earth, we all must leave the world of mortals. For those who died without glory, they must go down into the darkness, and find oblivion at the end of their journey. Let the Revered Speaker be no exception to this.”
“Let the Revered Speaker be no exception,” he echoed. Took him long enough, muttered a mental voice that sounded very like Teomitl. He pushed it aside.
With the formalities out of the way, he could finally approach the body. It didn’t look good. Tizoc had looked shrunken and raddled for years, but now he was skin and bones with a waxy, yellowish cast to his skin that went beyond what he would have expected from a corpse. If Acatl opened him up, he knew his liver would be inflamed. No magic clung to him, though, and as he knelt for a closer look he knew that hadn’t been the cause of his demise. Fluid on the heart, he thought, looking at his swollen extremities. Weak as he was, the strain was probably enough to kill him. Probably.
Quenami’s headdress rustled as he turned to follow Acatl’s movements with his eyes. “You see you have your job cut out for you—but then, I’m sure you knew that.”
Ice running down his spine and pooling in his gut, Acatl lifted his head. “What are you saying?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Quenami paused for dramatic effect, sweeping his gaze around the room. “Our Revered Speaker was poisoned.”
Teomitl stiffened, taking a step forward. Faint jade tints swam in the whites of his eyes. “What proof do you bring of this?”
“He was hale and healthy not a day ago,”—someone snorted; Acatl thought it might have been the She-Snake—“and now look at him. Someone has brought him low, and I will have answers.”
“He had a heart condition,” Acamapichtli drawled. “There’s your answer.” He flicked an unreadable glance at Acatl.
“Perhaps.” Quenami’s eyes narrowed. The room was warm already, but it grew measurably warmer; Acatl was aware of Palli and his other priests taking a prudent step back. “Or perhaps there is one among us who carries a grudge.”
“Have a care with your words,” Teomitl snapped.
Quenami held up his hands in a placating gesture that achieved nothing of the sort. “I assure you, my lord, I am choosing my words with the utmost care. We all know Tizoc had many enemies.”
Including almost everyone in this room, Acatl thought viciously. He got to his feet again, the better to meet Quenami’s cold eyes. “There are no signs of poison. It was a weak heart, as Acamapichtli says. And you know full well he has not been strong for a long time.”
Quenami shook his head, dismissing his words—and himself—as irrelevant. Acatl wanted to punch him. “What if it was magical in nature? I know full well there are sorcerers among us...as well as those who can quite easily cover up magical crimes.”
Now he went too far. Acatl’s fists clenched. Behind him, he heard a noise that suggested one of his priests might actually beat him to it—if Teomitl, who looked murderous, didn’t get there first. “I was at my temple keeping the boundaries of our world intact, as you should be well aware.” Don’t ask what I was doing before that. Or with whom.
“Ever the dutiful servant of our empire, I see. And where,” Quenami asked in a tone of silky menace, “was our Master of the House of Darts? Should he not have been with his dying brother?”
“He was with me,” Mihmatini snapped, and gods, Acatl loved his sister.
“Was he?” An immaculately maintained eyebrow went up. “I didn’t see him coming from the Duality House.”
No. Oh, no.
“Enough,” the She-Snake said. “Let our High Priest for the Dead do his work, Quenami.” Eyebrows lifted briefly as he looked at Acatl, but he said nothing else. He didn’t have to.
Acatl’s skin crawled, and he fought the urge to vomit. He knows. They’d been so discreet, they’d been so careful, and just when they could finally be safe together it was all threatening to come down around their ears. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pull Teomitl into his arms and stay there for eternity.
But there was a job to do, and he bent to do it.
Preparing Tizoc’s body would take a while, but he didn’t have to be present for it. There was time enough for a meal and sleep, or at least a brief nap, after the preparations began. He didn’t much feel like doing either one of those things. As the dawn broke over Tenochtitlan, he stepped out into the courtyard and squinted into the sun. His heart felt heavy. I should try to sleep. Teomitl would want me to.
He sighed. Teomitl...
His lover hadn’t met his eyes before he left. That was good, it was the discretion they needed with Quenami so suspicious, but it still pinched at his heart. It had been a long, long time since they’d left each other’s arms without even a kiss goodbye, and the last time had involved a sighting of the Night-Axe wandering a main thoroughfare. He still had the scar from that. Tizoc’s long-overdue demise just didn’t have the same feeling of frantic urgency.
When he turned the corner out of the Revered Speaker’s chambers, Mihmatini was waiting for him. She’d shed most of her regalia and redone her face paint, so the lines were clean and bold in the morning light. “Well?”
He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I saw no signs of wrongdoing.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d seen nothing. Even with his magical sight, there was no visible sign to indicate that Tizoc’s death had been anything but a magically-propelled body finally reaching the end of its lifespan. But he’d felt the currents of power still lingering around Tizoc’s organs, and if he dug down deeper he knew he’d find more than a hint that something had helped Tizoc along. He and his priests had exchanged long, long glances and had not looked deeper. They all knew they couldn’t have continued any longer, anyway.
“Good. I knew you wouldn’t.” Her fingers toyed restlessly with her carved coral bangles. She didn’t look at him.
“Mihmatini...” He stopped, biting his lip. The magic hadn’t felt like hers. And what good would it do to interrogate her? He could admit to himself that though he would have preferred it be Teomitl’s work, the most important part was that the festering boil on the throne of their city had been lanced, and healing could begin.
Her gaze fixed on the far wall as she started to walk. He followed, drifting behind her like a ghost. “He’s dead, isn’t he? For good this time?”
He nodded before belatedly remembering she couldn’t see him. “Yes.” As dead as he should have been all those years ago.
She heaved a sigh of relief. He couldn’t blame her. “...Finally.”
They crossed into a courtyard, the sunlight dazzling Acatl’s eyes where it reflected off the water. He shielded his face with a hand. Mihmatini, more used to the brightness, didn’t even flinch; he cast a glance her way, briefly reflecting on how she’d grown into her power. Acamapichtli told me once that she was destined for great things. I can see what he meant now. “Do you think we’ll be safe?”
She was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “We should be. When my husband is crowned.” Once, hearing that phrase from Mihmatini would have made him flush guiltily, too aware of how he was technically an intruder in their marriage. Now it brought a brief surge of camaraderie and a swell of understanding at her proud smile. “He’ll be a wonderful Emperor, you know.”
Despite himself, he smiled back. Yes, he’d seen the way Teomitl weighed his decisions now, how he commanded his men unflinchingly, how he was quick to stand up for his opinions and just as quick to apologize—and to do so sincerely—when he caused friction in expressing them. He’d grown from a callow, impetuous youth into a fine young man who would do the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown proud, and Acatl couldn’t wait. (Not all of it was patriotism. His lover had long expressed ideas regarding all the things they could get up to when Tizoc was no longer hovering over their heads, and he was looking forward to trying them out.)
“Acatl...” Mihmatini hesitated, glancing away. “You should stay away from him until then. They’ll all be looking at him.”
His smile faded. She was right, and he hated it. The last thing Teomitl needed before the votes were cast was any hint of impropriety, especially with one of his High Priests. “I know.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Though the morning was warm, she hunched her shoulders as though the breeze chilled her. “I didn’t know—I thought there would be time to prepare.”
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of flowers. “This was always going to happen.” They’d had a little time to stabilize Tizoc’s reign as much as they could, but he’d known since bringing the man back that it was never going to last. That Teomitl would rule eventually, and a few weeks’ worth of separation would be a small price to pay for his lover’s destiny.
Admittedly, when he’d first thought that, Teomitl had been only his student, and it was one thing to keep a respectful distance from the human embodiment of trouble and quite another to find himself barred from holding it in his arms after it proved to be so sweet and lovable, so when Mihmatini muttered, “...It could have happened at a better time,” he found himself agreeing.
“...Yes. It could have.”
Whatever she heard in his voice made her wince, and she turned to squeeze his arm. “We’ll be alright.” Her smile just barely touched her eyes, but her conviction shone through anyway. “I’ll see you later.”
He watched her go. After a while it was too painful to look, and he turned his gaze to the flowers instead. They were blooming beautifully.
Duality, he prayed, let her be right.
&
The worst part was the waiting. The funerary rituals to send on a Revered Speaker weren’t that much more involved than those for an ordinary man, but they were certainly longer. Tizoc’s shade, released from his body, was a pitiful scrap of a thing that only had enough strength to bare its teeth at Acatl before he set it free on its journey to Mictlan, but then there were more chants. More vigils. More careful scrutiny of the journey Tizoc’s soul was making through all nine levels of Mictlan. Acatl was sure he heard one of his older priests muttering something about making sure it was a one-way trip, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to discipline the man. They were all thinking the same thing.
And when he had a moment to breathe, he couldn’t even spend it with Teomitl. The man was practically living at the palace now, only coming home to the Duality House to sleep. They’d been separated for longer, but there was a unique sort of ache to having it be while both of them were in the same city. Every time they saw each other, his lover was in the middle of a knot of noblemen and veteran warriors, all of whom wanted something in exchange for their support. Priests of Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc followed him like shadows. His own priests didn’t dare do the same, not after Quenami’s accusations had trickled through the ranks.
(None of them had said anything to him, but they didn’t have to. Palli and Ezamahual had heard the way Quenami had named him and Teomitl in the same breath, as though they were conspirators—as though they were far, far closer than brothers-in-law ought to be—and with a cohesiveness that would have impressed a company of Shorn Ones, they’d drawn around him like a cloak. When he’d realized it, he’d needed to sit down.)
So he bided his time, and a week after Tizoc’s death he sat down to dinner in his courtyard. It was the first time he’d seen his lover or his sister since taking possession of the Revered Speaker’s corpse, and relief had almost swamped him when they strode in unchanged. Tired, yes—Teomitl’s ill temper was clear, and Mihmatini’s smile had shadows on its edges—but still hale and whole and willing to eat his cooking. Then again, it had improved over the years, so that was no longer the measure of good humor it might have been.
He set down a platter of grilled newts with chilies, the sauce in a bowl on the side in deference to his loved ones’ tastes, and after washing their hands they dug in. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the first bite hit his tongue; it had come out well, and his fears of burning something by accident were unfounded. They ate in silence for a while before he shifted his weight, took a gulp of water, and asked, “So, how is it going with the council?”
Teomitl made a face. “Fine. Nobody’s tried to poison anyone else yet, as far as I know.” Mihmatini made a noise indicating this was a low bar, and he added, “Though I’m sure my uncle has a new black eye. I wasn’t going to ask him how he got it.”
He considered that. “...Probably wise.”
Teomitl took a final bite of his grilled newt and followed it up with another, much larger, bite of slightly charred flatbread. Maybe he’d made the sauce a bit too hot. “Nezahual-tzin wanted to put forth the She-Snake as a candidate.”
“Did he.” Nezahual’s arrival two days after Tizoc’s death hadn’t helped any of their moods; the man moved through the Sacred Precinct like a snake, and every time Acatl saw him from a distance with a friendly arm around this or that councilman’s shoulders he had to remind himself that one did not smack rulers of allied cities. Hearing that he’d supported a rival candidate for Tenochtitlan’s throne only made it a more tempting prospect.
“The She-Snake turned it down.”
“Wise of him,” Mihmatini commented.
“And unwise of Nezahual-tzin,” Acatl muttered into his cup.
“I can imagine what he was thinking.” Teomitl flashed a thin blade of a smile. “But I’ll prove him wrong.”
Warmth suffused Acatl’s chest. So many things had changed over the years, but Teomitl’s essential confidence had never wavered. It still shone bright as the sun, bolstering him when few other things could. “I know you will.” You’ve promised, haven’t you? You’ve promised to keep us safe. And because it was only the three of them, and he was allowed, he reached over to cover Teomitl’s hand with his own.
Teomitl flushed, his smile turning shy. “How have you been? How are the boundaries holding? You’ve been getting enough sleep, I trust.”
He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly awkward, and pulled his hand back. “The boundaries are fine.”
“That means no,” Mihmatini informed them with a sigh. “Acatl. Really. The bags under your eyes could haul rocks for the Temple.”
“I’ve been sleeping!” he huffed. “But someone has to be alert for the threat of star demons.”
Mihmatini and Teomitl shared long-suffering looks. Things had been rocky between them for a while; he’d never asked, but sometimes he’d suspected they’d bonded again over their mutual (unnecessary, in his opinion) worry for him. Teomitl sighed, all fond exasperation. “And if they come, and you pass out from exhaustion?” He shook his head. “Love, I know it’s been a while, but I’ll remind you that I have no problem guarding you while you sleep.”
He knew he was blushing, both at Teomitl’s boldness and the traitorous little spark of joy that shot through him at the idea. No matter how bad of an idea it was, it was impossible not to be touched by his lover’s concern. “Teomitl.”
Mihmatini smiled, setting her empty cup down. “Maybe that’s what you need.”
He swallowed. “It’s too risky.” Not with everyone looking at us. Not when he hasn’t been crowned yet. Teomitl was looking crestfallen, chewing the inside of his lip plug, and that made it so much worse. He wanted to take his hand again, but he didn’t dare.
The meal seemed to be over, with only bones and the burnt edges of flatbread left behind. His sister rose gracefully to her feet. “Pardon me for a moment.”
As soon as she left for the privy, Teomitl met his eyes. His gaze was dark and warm and hopeful, and it made Acatl’s heart skip a beat. “Please,” he whispered. “Can I stay tonight?”
There was a lump in his throat. He had to look away, feeling heat rise in his face. “...You can’t. You know that.” I can’t be seen to influence you. Quenami has connections, and he’ll do anything in his power to ruin you. To ruin both of us.
“...I do.” It was so soft that Acatl almost didn’t hear it. He was silent for a moment, and then continued in a tone so wistful it nearly broke Acatl’s heart. “But I wish...”
He drew in a breath. “Me too.” He’d never wanted to take Teomitl into his arms so badly in his life.
Mihmatini’s reappearance stopped him. She approached almost hesitantly, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he knew she didn’t want to interrupt them. He didn’t deserve such a sister. But the sun had set, and it was time for them to leave. “Teomitl?”
Acatl felt like he’d swallowed a knife. It will pass, he told himself. It will pass. This will be over soon, and when he is Revered Speaker there is no one who will bar me from his side save his will. “You should go home.”
Teomitl rose slowly, turning for one last glance over his shoulder. “...Alright. I’ll see you later, Acatl.”
And then they left, and he was alone again in his darkened courtyard. The torches didn’t seem bright enough anymore; as he gathered his cloak around him and got to his feet to begin clearing away his dishes, he was awash in the cold light of the moon and stars. The stars which shone too brightly and glittered too fiercely, for all that the clouds tried to obscure them. He didn’t look up. He’d started to get used to the vertigo, but if he spent too long studying those pinpricks of light he thought he might float up off his feet and drift endlessly among them. No, it was better to keep his gaze on the ground.
He washed plates and buried the uneaten scraps in silence. The last time he’d hosted dinner at his house, Teomitl had stayed afterwards to help clean up. They’d gotten all the plates put away eventually, but there had been water all over the floor by the time they’d finished. He wondered if there would still be space for that when Teomitl was Revered Speaker; despite himself, he started to smile at the mental image of Teomitl creeping from the palace, still wearing his turquoise and emerald piercings, to run sudsy hands over his skin instead of the big lizard-patterned platter he’d gotten from Neutemoc as a gift last year. He’d do it, he thought. He’s stubborn like that. And I love him for it.
He wished the council would hurry up. Teomitl was Master of the House of Darts, had held the Empire together through all Tizoc’s fumbling; there couldn’t be a better candidate for Emperor. The stars above him were really too bright.
As he finally turned to enter his sleeping chambers, approaching footsteps stalled him. It wasn’t a tread he recognized immediately, but then Quenami strolled into his courtyard like he belonged there and his hackles rose. The High Priest of Huitzilopochtli was fresh-faced and expensively attired in gold and feathers, though the day had been a sweltering one that ought, if the gods were kind, to have wilted every heron feather in his headdress. And he was smirking, which made the whole impression much worse.
“Ah. Acatl. So glad I could catch you before you retired.” He didn’t bow.
Acatl held his gaze, feeling a moment’s bleak despair (thank the gods he’d sent his lover home) before slow fury rose through his veins like smoke to replace it. How dare you. How dare you come here, on top of everything else—! But he didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t help. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Oh, a few trifling questions.” Quenami waved an airy hand, but his eyes were hard where they fixed on Acatl’s own. “The Great Temple is almost complete, you know.”
“Mm.” The expansion of the Great Temple had begun over a year ago, and Tizoc had told anyone who would listen that it would be his mark on the city forever. Acatl had spent the first weeks of construction trying not to have nightmares of the temple’s depths, but when nothing crawled out of the scaffolding or fell screaming from the heavens he’d begun to think that maybe it would be alright. For all Tizoc’s many flaws, he at least knew how to hire good builders. It would probably be finished after Teomitl’s coronation war if the schedule held, and up until now there had been no problems. But if Quenami was bringing it up now, perhaps he’d seen something Acatl had missed.
“She of the Silver Bells will need many, many sacrifices to keep Her sealed. I trust we can count on your magical aptitude until then?”
He forced himself to unclench his jaw. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
Quenami’s gaze slid away from him, wandering around the empty courtyard with its single tree before settling back on him. A faint sniff said he’d been weighed, measured, and found distinctly wanting. “...The boundaries have been too thin for too long.”
“You know whose fault that is.” He sucked in a hard breath. Nothing on earth could have stopped him from adding, almost defiantly, “Soon it won’t be a problem anymore.”
Quenami took a step forward. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Acatl. Our Revered Speaker is dead.”
He held his ground. He wanted to ball his hands into fists, wanted to lash out; with great effort, he forced himself to at least appear relaxed. The meal he’d eaten felt as though it had calcified in his stomach. “He was half-dead since we brought him back. You should know that.”
“And now he is in Mictlan. Where you sent him.” Quenami actually had the nerve to scoff, though there was a thread of real anger in his voice that Acatl hadn’t heard before.
Acatl felt cold all over. Quenami might have been allergic to plain speaking, but he’d been forced to actually pay more attention to politics over the years, and—unlike last time—now he could see the shadows of the accusation taking shape before him. “What are you implying, Quenami?”
Quenami drew in a harsh breath, eyes narrowing. His voice cracked out like a whip. “You’ve always despised him! It’s been plain as day on your face.”
For a few moments he almost couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded away frantically in his chest, fit to escape its prison of ribs; when he blinked, he saw for an instant the flower garland before him, and the executioner dragging him away to face his fate. “Are you accusing me of treason? Again?”
That seemed to give him pause. “Oh, not treason. Merely...mm. You don’t seem to have given his death the attention it deserves.” His words dripped honeyed venom, one eyebrow raising as he continued, “Perhaps because you’ve been spending far too much time with our Master of the House of Darts?”
He sucked in a breath that felt like it was costing him something. Innocent. I have to be innocent. But his face was aflame, and he knew he was fighting a losing battle. “...What are you saying?”
“Don’t play coy with me,” Quenami snapped. “He’s wanted to be Revered Speaker since the day Axayacatl-tzin died, and I saw the marks on your skin when you came to clam Tizoc-tzin’s body. We all know how close you are to Teomitl, Acatl.”
You don’t know how close you are to death, he thought savagely. Fear still chilled his veins, but it would avail him naught. He took one deep breath, another, and let anger rise in a crimson tide to replace it. “He is my brother-in-law! How dare you suggest I would dishonor my sister and my vows in such a way?!” If he raised his voice enough, he could utter the lie without choking on it—and besides, it wasn’t technically untrue. It was no dishonor if Mihmatini had given her vocal approval, and he’d sworn many vows.
“Ah. Your sister.” Quenami looked thoughtful, which was never a good sign. “An intelligent woman.”
Acatl didn’t like his tone. “The Guardian of the Sacred Precinct,” he stressed. Your superior in all but name. The woman who will be Imperial Consort when Teomitl is crowned. You may think to strike at my weak points, but all your scheming will never intimidate her. I’d love to see you even try.
Quenami smiled thinly, looking like nothing so much as a hungry caiman. “Indeed. I believe I will pay her a visit. We ought to have much to discuss.”
He swept out, leaving Acatl alone. Only when his footsteps had finally faded into silence did he let his legs buckle, knees hitting the packed earth hard as all the tension that had been holding him upright finally loosened its grip. He knew he would regret that later—his knees twinged when he got up even at the best of times, and during the rainy season they ached near-constantly—but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Gods, he missed Teomitl.
&
The council was still deliberating two days later, and Acatl was tired. He could feel the boundaries above them straining at the seams, threatening to burst apart. The ritual had bought them time, but after five years of Tizoc’s utter incompetence he wasn’t sure how much he could take. He knew it had to be worse at the Duality House with Quenami prowling around suspiciously, but he didn’t dare make himself a fresh target. Mihmatini would handle it.
The same way she handled Tizoc...? He shook his head, banishing the thought. He’d set a target on Tizoc’s back that day in the courtyard, and he’d decided long ago that he didn’t care if anyone struck at it so long as they succeeded. His sister was practical, but she wasn’t bloodthirsty—and besides, the day she couldn’t outsmart a bastard like Quenami, they had bigger problems. She’d be fine, and in any case he’d realized that needed to be seen to be doing things at the palace. He wasn’t on the council, but with the Great Temple so close to completion they would all be expecting his magical support.
Still, they didn’t need him right this minute. He could feel anticipation tugging nastily at his spine, but until someone came and fetched him there was no reason why he couldn’t walk through the gardens. They were beautiful this time of year, all the flowers shedding their rich scents into the air. Gravel crunched underfoot as he made his way past stands of pitaya cactus, and he averted his eyes from the fruit before a pang could enter his heart. Teomitl had a terrible sweet tooth, one he’d teased him about before. When he’s back in my arms, I swear I’ll never tease him about his love for sweets again.
Because Teomitl would be back in his arms. There was simply no alternative. No matter what else changed when he was crowned, they would still love each other.
(If he’s crowned, whispered a nasty little voice in his head. They might choose the She-Snake. They might choose one of Teomitl’s uncles, someone older and more experienced. And if he’s not crowned, and Quenami is free to spread his poison...)
(He shook his head, banishing the thought with an angry huff. His lover was Master of the House of Darts. There were no other decent candidates. He would be Revered Speaker, and Acatl would be proud.)
There was a voice ahead of him. Teomitl’s, low and enraged. Oh no.
Stepping more carefully now, he turned the corner into the courtyard and prayed he wasn’t about to come across a diplomatic incident. The way Teomitl had once picked a fight with Acamapichtli over Axayacatl’s corpse was a distant memory now, but a repeat certainly wouldn’t surprise him. What was acceptable in a youth of noble blood wasn’t nearly as acceptable in a strong candidate for Revered Speaker, and Teomitl had to rule. He had to.
He still couldn’t see him through the bushes, but if he tilted his head—ah, there was a familiar flash of red. He drew closer and sucked in a hard breath.
Yes, there was his lover, and across from him was Quenami. For the moment they were silent, and Acatl thought, desperately, Get away from him! Don’t you know he wants you dead?
Teomitl didn’t seem to care. He was meeting Quenami’s gaze head on, fists clenched, and the barely suppressed rage in his voice was making his limbs tremble. “My brother may have appointed you to your position. You may think you served at his will, that you can do whatever you want because he gave you that power. But you’re wrong about that.”
“My lord—”
Teomitl cut him off ruthlessly. “You serve—you live—because Acatl-tzin has willed it should be so, and you should spend every day on your knees thanking him for the gift of your miserable life.”
Acatl gasped, but luckily neither of them seemed to hear it; Quenami had taken a step back, eyes widening in stunned terror, and probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d shouted. There was a carved stone bench behind him, and he sank down onto it slowly. He’d thought Teomitl had forgotten about that conversation; it had been so long ago, near the start of their relationship, and his lover had never brought it up again.
Do you want him dead? Teomitl had asked.
He’d thought about it, and he’d said no. But he’d remembered the bone-rattling helpless fear of being in the man’s power, and what he hadn’t said was not yet.
“It so happens that I disagree with my brother-in-law on this point. I would have sent you to serve Tizoc in Mictlan. But Acatl is a much more forgiving man than I am, did you know that? He says I shouldn’t hold grudges, that I should try to forget the sight of your men holding a blade at his throat. That I should try and put behind me the day you almost killed him.” There was the edge of a feral, vicious smile. “He’s a good and merciful man, and deserves your respect and admiration. You ought to remember that.”
“I.” Quenami swallowed audibly. “I, uh. I will, my lord.”
Teomitl drew back, eyes hooded. “Good.” His voice was cold as ice. “You’re dismissed. And don’t you ever speak such slander about Acatl-tzin again, or I will remember this conversation.”
Quenami, ever mindful of his dignity, did not quite flee down the path, but it was a near thing.
Acatl sat silently on the bench, hearing his own pounding heartbeat and Teomitl’s harsh, still-furious breaths as both of them slowed down to normal. He’d known Teomitl loved him, but to hear him all but threaten Quenami over him was...
He swallowed, feeling heat pool in his gut. Well. Apparently his body had quite clear opinions on that.
There was a long sigh from the other side of the shrubbery, and Teomitl’s footsteps sounded closer. Acting on instinct, he lifted his head and called his name. “Teomitl?”
“Acatl!” Teomitl rounded the corner, the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips, but whatever he saw in his face made it fall. “Ah.”
“...I heard what you said to Quenami just now.”
Teomitl drew himself up, ears red. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I...” He trailed off, knowing he was blushing. How to explain the way he felt knowing he was supported? Knowing that Teomitl was willing to do anything—anything—for him? Knowing that he’d truly meant it that first time they’d lain together, all sweet heat and adoration, and he’d whispered into Acatl’s ear, I’m yours? He couldn’t. There weren’t enough words.
So instead he whispered, “Come here,” and reached out to take his lover’s hand.
Teomitl made a soft noise, biting his lip—then stepped past Acatl’s offered hand and sank onto his lap instead. The gasp that escaped Acatl’s lips was swallowed by Teomitl’s mouth claiming his in a long, sweet kiss, long overdue; when he drew back, his eyes were dark and serious. “I meant every word.”
His lips tingled where Teomitl’s had pressed against them. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers and fisted his hands in the folds of Teomitl’s cloak until they stopped trembling; in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss him forever—but first, curiosity beckoned, and he had to heed its call. He needed his mouth for that. “I know you did. But what...I mean, why...?”
Teomitl lowered his gaze. “...The council is almost finished with their deliberations.” There was a brief flicker of a smile as he continued, “Quenami thought to pledge his devotion to me ahead of time, and cast further aspersions on your suitability as High Priest. He dared to suggest to me that you had some foreknowledge of Tizoc’s death, and you know I couldn’t let that stand. I had to remind him what kind of person you are.”
“...I know.” He found himself smiling, unable to express the joy bubbling up through his chest any other way. He’d laughed, flustered, the first time Teomitl had called him the best man in Tenochtitlan, but then he’d been sure he’d been joking. It made something melt within him to be reminded that his lover wasn’t; that he truly did look at Acatl in all his cynical bitterness and see only light. He smoothed his fingers along Teomitl’s cheek, feeling the heat of the soft skin under his touch. “I...it felt good to hear it.”
“Did it?” Teomitl shifted his weight, grinding down in a way that sent slow pleasure curling through his limbs. His smile was a wicked thing. “Maybe you could show me how good.”
His face burned. “Teomitl.”
His lover sighed. “I know. Not here, and not yet. Not when you’ve got all this to worry about.” He didn’t gesture towards the pinpricks of stars in the sky. He didn’t have to. But instead of sliding off his lap he nestled closer, resting his head on Acatl’s shoulder. His voice softened. “When we’re safe, can I come to your mat again?”
When we’re safe. When we’re safe. It pulsed through him like a heartbeat. They had never been truly safe before; as long as Tizoc had been alive, they’d been teetering on the edge of destruction. But now the man was dead, and he could see light on the horizon. “...Ask me again,” he managed, “when you are Revered Speaker.”
Teomitl’s arms tightened around him. “Give me one more week.”
&
It took three days. Three days of waiting, of knowing his lover was close but being unable to simply go to him, of sinking onto his mat cold and alone. When he woke to rain drumming on his roof, he thought he might cry.
On the morning of the third day, he was at his temple. Boundaries or no boundaries, Revered Speaker or no Revered Speaker, people didn’t stop dying, and so he was taking over a vigil from Ichtaca when Ezamahual stepped in. The man waited until he’d finished his current chant before lifting his voice. “Acatl-tzin.”
There was a note of urgency in his voice. Acatl felt his shoulders go stiff. “Yes?”
“I’ve just come from the palace.” Ezamahual took a breath, seemingly to brace himself for the news. “The council has come to a decision, and Teomitl-tzin has been acclaimed the future Revered Speaker. He will be crowned tomorrow.”
Acatl closed his eyes, tension draining out of him like water from a cracked jar. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank the gods. Thank the gods, my love will keep us safe. “Good.”
And then he continued his shift. No matter how much he wanted to throw down his knife, gather his cloak around him, and sprint for the palace and Teomitl’s arms, he would refrain. It had been three days. He could wait until nightfall to celebrate the good news. And besides, no doubt Teomitl wouldn’t have time for him yet anyway.
He remembered the warm weight of him in his lap, the way they’d kissed, and felt his ears go hot. He’d steal time from somewhere. But I...I’m selfish. I want to give him all night.
It couldn’t come soon enough. He went through his day in a haze, barely registering what he was doing past the drumbeats of his heart. They’d done it. They’d done it. After so long, Teomitl would lead them to glory, would keep the boundaries as strong as the Sacred Precinct’s walls. The smoke and mist of his name would flow from one end of the sea-ringed world to the other, and Acatl would be there every step of the way.
Night fell. He ate dinner. He bathed himself. He waited.
As the sun sank below the horizon, he heard the sound of running footsteps.
“Acatl!”
The entrance-curtain was yanked aside in a discordant jangle of bells, but he barely heard it over the pounding of his heart, because Teomitl was standing in the doorway. His beloved was wearing a richly embroidered tunic trimmed with feathers, with gold at his wrists and jade rings glinting on his fingers; his earrings were of turquoise carved with ahuitzotls. The quetzal ornaments tied into his hair were slightly askew, as though he’d ran over from the palace in great haste.
He took Acatl’s breath away. Voice shaking, he blurted out, “I heard the news earlier—”
“But you were busy. I know.” Teomitl smiled at him as he stepped into the room, gazing at Acatl as though the sight of him—skinny, scarred, hair still damp from his bath—was all he’d ever wanted.
And he was still too far away. Acatl couldn’t take it anymore. “Come here.”
They fell into each other’s arms. Acatl’s hands found his hair instantly, disordering it until the feathers fluttered down in a heap; at any other time he would have at least paused, but Teomitl was kissing him breathlessly and in the face of that nothing else mattered. His lover’s hands settled at his hips, hauling their bodies together, and as the smooth cotton of Teomitl’s tunic pressed against his bare skin all he could think was Yes. Yes, I’m whole again.
When Teomitl finally pulled away for air, the warmth in his gaze made Acatl’s heart melt. “Mmm. I missed you.”
“So did I,” he breathed. “My Emperor.” Finally. We’ve been so patient. We’ve waited so long. And now—now— It was too much to bear; he had to kiss him again, and this time it had teeth. When he licked into Teomitl’s mouth, he was rewarded with a delicious moan that made his pulse race.
Then fingers were sliding under the sides of his loincloth, pressing into the tender skin of his hips, and his racing pulse had a definite purpose. Teomitl lowered his mouth to his neck, lips moving maddeningly lightly against his skin. “Gods, yes, always yours.” He nipped lightly, a sweet sting that pulled a gasp from Acatl’s throat. “Let me prove it.”
Well. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about that. “Oh?” He slid his hands down Teomitl’s spine to his rear, giving the firm flesh a lingering and appreciative squeeze. “You’re sure you don’t want me performing obeisance to you—”
“No,” Teomitl snapped.
Then he dropped, pulling Acatl down to the mat with him. They landed in a tangle of limbs and Acatl’s hair, with a moment’s confusion as they both fumbled with the loose knot of his loincloth; it didn’t seem to matter that Teomitl could (and had) done it one-handed and in pitch blackness before, because now his hands almost trembled with eagerness. Acatl wriggled, kicking the cloth out of the way, and rolled his hips up so that they ground against each other in a shuddering rush of friction and heat.
He couldn’t decide whether he wanted it fast or slow, but Teomitl made the decision for him by straddling his hips and claiming his mouth in a long, hungry kiss. He moaned into it, back arching. “Mmm...” His hands found Teomitl’s thighs, rucking up the tunic with no care whatsoever for the colorful feathers woven into it. Right now, it was just an impediment.
Teomitl growled low in his throat as he broke the kiss, rearing up only to rip the tunic off over his head and toss it into a corner of the room. His loincloth landed in another corner. “Too many clothes,” he muttered irritably.
When he started to pull off his rings, Acatl sucked in a breath. Teomitl naked was a sight to make any man believe that the gods could be benevolent; Teomitl naked save for the riches of his empire, all that bright gold and jade with imperial turquoise at his ears, was something else entirely. He didn’t think he’d ever been harder in his life. “The—the jewelry can stay on, I think.”
Teomitl paused, slowly lowering his hands. When he turned his gaze back to Acatl, his smile was sly and knowing and wonderfully enticing. “Oh? You like me like this?”
His heart was racing. Teomitl slid his hands up his stomach to his chest in a caress that made every inch of his skin buzz with the shock of his desire. Their separation had been much too long. “...Yes,” he whispered. “Very much.”
“Then that’s how you’ll have me.” Teomitl’s grin was the bright, wild, reckless thing he’d first fallen in love with years ago, back when he’d thought only of his temple and his priests and hadn’t ever dreamed of opening his heart fully. It made something in that same heart crack and overflow, and for the space of an instant all he could do was smile back.
But then Teomitl was reaching for the oil jar they kept by the mat—they’d once kept it out of sight in a chest, but since it saw such frequent use there was really no point in storing it where they’d have to waste precious time rummaging for it—and he thought about all the possibilities of that’s how you’ll have me and could only shiver, hot all over with anticipation. “Oh.”
And then, a little while later: “Oh, fuck, Teomitl...!”
No matter how many time they made love, no matter what position they were in, it was still the same; every time filled him with overflowing emotions. Teomitl sank down on him in one smooth, expert slide, and as he grabbed for his hips he groaned both from the sheer perfection of how well they fit together and the slowly rising tide of rightness settling into place in his chest. This is what I needed. This, forever and always.
After so long they knew each other’s bodies as well as their own; it was long practice that had him rolling his hips up into each downward motion, digging his nails into the precise spots that made Teomitl gasp and buck even harder, surging up and biting at Teomitl’s throat in a way he knew would pull a downright filthy moan out of him. And all it took after that was to wrap a hand around him and stroke until Teomitl came with a scream that might have been his name; his lover’s pleasure drove him effortlessly to his own peak in a rush that turned his world to white fire.
In the split second of clarity afterwards came his first conscious thought. It was worth it. All the strain and struggle had been worth it for this moment of joy—and for all the ones that would follow.
They did not speak for a long time. Teomitl lifted himself off him, making Acatl shudder in response, and caught his breath against Acatl’s chest in a boneless lump of blissed-out pleasure. Acatl stroked his hair in silence, letting his own heartrate return to normal. His mind felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, warm and sated as a hound in a patch of sunlight, and yet there was an air of finality whispering through it he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried.
“This is the last time we’ll be like this,” he murmured.
Teomitl stiffened, shaking himself like an ahuitzotl. “What?”
Gods, there was fear in his voice. Acatl immediately felt terrible. He swallowed around a spike of nerves in his throat as he elaborated on the half-formed thought. “...Tomorrow, when the sun rises, you will be my Revered Speaker.”
Teomitl drew in a breath, pushing himself up on his elbows to meet his eyes. “...No.” His voice carried a weight like a hammer.
“No?” he echoed.
Then Teomitl was kissing him, rough and eager, as though he wanted to imprint it on Acatl’s very heart. “It won’t change anything,” he breathed harshly. “I’ll love you just as well with a crown on my head.”
But you’ll do more than that, he thought. You’ll lead armies. You’ll carry the Southern Hummingbird’s favor. You’ll keep us all safe. “Teo—” he began.
“Shh. Let me prove it.”
He’d thought he was spent, but Teomitl settling himself between his legs very effectively proved him wrong. There was very little room for speech after that; oil spilled extravagantly over Teomitl’s fingers, over his own thighs, and by the time Teomitl finally took him he’d been reduced to keening incoherence. There was no frenzy in it, but a steady and unshakeable determination as his lover snapped his hips forward, gaze locked on his with an emotion Acatl had by now learned to recognize. Love. With a look like that, he didn’t need to repeat his declaration for it to be understood perfectly well. Acatl drew his nails down Teomitl’s back, arching like a drawn bow, and just before his second orgasm of the night struck he thought, I know. You don’t need to say it. I know, my heart.
That didn’t stop Teomitl, of course, though he waited until they’d at least made gestures towards cleaning up before flopping down on top of him again with a sleepy smile that made it clear he wasn’t planning on moving. “I really...really love you,” he mumbled.
Acatl couldn’t respond. Oh, he wanted to; love poured through him like honey, soaking into his bones, but he was too tired to make his mouth form the words. He hummed sleepily, though, and that seemed to get through because Teomitl smiled and nuzzled affectionately at his throat. Perfect, he thought through his exhaustion. My beloved man. Now I can rest.
His eyes closed.
Something blared in the distance, dragging him up through the foggy depths of sleep. He hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off, but he must have; the conch shells were calling for the dawn, and pale light filtered through the window. It would be a clear and sunny day, the gods’ favor upon the start of Teomitl’s coronation. Muscles protesting, he sat up.
His lover stirred awake next to him, rubbing his eyes carefully. They never had gotten his jewelry off, and the jade gleamed in the light. At first there was a faint, sulky frown on his face—he’d never liked mornings—but then he seemed to realize where he was, because as he opened his eyes and saw Acatl he started to smile. “It’s tomorrow,” he said softly.
The conversation they’d had started to make its way back through the misty corridors of Acatl’s memory. That’s right. He won’t be just my lover anymore. “...Mmm.”
Teomitl pushed himself upright, lifting a hand to card through a fallen lock of Acatl’s hair and gently return it to its place behind his ear. His smile held none of his old carelessness; it was steady and warm as the dawn, burning away his doubts. “And I’m still the same man you went to bed with last night. I’m still your Teomitl.” There was a moment’s pause, and his gaze flickered as though he was suddenly unsure. It made Acatl’s heart twinge hard. “Aren’t I?”
He drew in a breath, and the air that filled his lungs was sweet. No matter what else Teomitl was—Revered Speaker, conqueror, conduit for Huitzilopochtli in the Fifth World—he would always be that. He would always be his, kept secret and safe in his heart. “...Yes,” he breathed. “Duality, yes.”
He leaned in, but Teomitl met him halfway. Rings caught in his hair as they kissed, his back protested as Teomitl pressed him against the mat, but it didn’t matter. Only this did—the heat of his beloved’s mouth on his, the steady thumping of his heartbeat in his chest, the brightness of the magical boundaries that would keep them safe for a lifetime.
The sun was rising.
